Casteel 1 - Heaven (20 page)

My eyes felt strained, swollen, as if I had two discolored, dreary suns behind the blackest of all moons. “Tom . . . write, please, please. We'll see each other againI know we will. Mr. Henry, where do you live?”

“Don't tell her,” warned Pa, tightening his fingers about my throat. "This one means nothing but trouble, and don't let Tom write. At least not to this

one named Heaven. She should have been called Hell."

“Pa!” screamed Tom. “She's the best you got, and you don't know it.”

Tom was outside now and the door had been left open. I managed to call out, my voice hoarse, “There's always a bridge up ahead, Thomas Luke, you keep remembering that. And you'll achieve your dream, I know!”

Turning, he heard and understood, waved, smiled, then got in the truck and kept his head out of the window, yelling back to me. “No matter where you go or who tries to keep us apart, I'll find you, Heavenly! I'll never forget you! Together we'll find Keith and Our Jane, just like we planned to do!”

The dirty old truck drove off, headed toward the rough road, and disappeared, and I was alone with Pa and Grandpa. Feeling numb, in a state of shock so despairing I sank to the floor when Pa released me.

Already I sensed just what lay ahead for Tom.

No more education for Tom, no more fun hunting and fishing for Tom, or baseball playing, or fooling around with his buddies, just work, work, and more work.

Tom with his brilliant mind, his dreams and

aspirations, would be buried out in the middle of cow pastures, living a farmer's life, the kind he'd often said he'd never put up with.

much.

But what lay ahead for me frightened me just as

eleven MY CHOICE . TOM WAS GONE. I was without a soul to love me. Who would

ever call me Heavenly again? Tom took with him all the laughter, all the

excitement, brightness, courage, encouragement, and good humor he'd given to a grim, struggling household. The fun side of myself disappeared in that pickup truck with license plates so covered with mud I couldn't read them. And I'd tried so hard. I'd thought before, foolishly, that I'd been alone after Keith and Our Jane left. Now I was truly the only one left, and I was the one Pa hated.

I tried to comfort myself by believing 1 was also the only one who did anything useful in the cabin, like cooking and cleaning, and caring for Grandpacertainly Pa wouldn't want to leave Grandpa here alone. . .

I willed Pa to go, to slam out the door, jump into his truck, and drive for Winnerrow, or wherever he went now that he had to stay out of Shirley's Place.

He didn't go. He positioned himself near the only door to our

shack like a guard dog, to keep me imprisoned until he had me sold, too.

He didn't speak, just sat sullen and quiet, and when night fell he moved his chair closer to the stove, his large feet propped up, his eyes half closed, a look of misery on his face.

All through the remainder of the week after Tom left with Buck Henry I tried to find the strength to run off alone if ever I had the chancethat meant when I had to use the outhouse.

Without Tom, Keith, Our Jane, I had no heart, no spirit, no will to run anywhere to save myself from what had to be my certain fate. If only I could send a message to Miss Deale. Was she back yet? I prayed each night for Miss Deale or Logan to come to my rescue.

No one came.

I was the one Pa hated, and I would be the one he'd turn over to the very worst kind of people. No rich folks for me, Not even anyone as good as Buck Henry. Very likely he'd sell me to that madam who ran Shirley's Place.

The more my thoughts dwelled on my fate, the angrier I grew. He couldn't do this to me! I wasn't a dumb animal to be sold off and forgotten. I was a

human being with an eternal soul, with the inalienable right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Miss Deale had said that so often it was imprinted on my brain. Then, to myself, I had to grin bitterly, for in that class of hers there dwelled a spirit that reached out to me, telling me to hold on, she was coming to the rescue. It was almost as if I heard Miss Deale calling out encouragement, her voice coming closer and closer over the hills.

Hurry, Miss Deale, I wanted to yell across the mountains. This is my needing time, Miss Deale! All pride gone now, vanished, conquered! Without shame I'll take from you! Come, come fast to save me, for it won't be long now!

I prayed, then got up from my knees, moved to the kitchen cabinet, and peered inside. Life went on despite everything, and meals had to be prepared.

Hope was in Grandpa's reddened, watery eyes when he came back from his necessity trip with more tree branches. He carefully seated himself in his rocker. He didn't pick up his whittling knife, only fixed his eyes on me. Don't leave me, his eyes were pleading. Stay, they begged silently, even as he motioned me close and whispered, "I'm all right, chile. I know what yer thinkin. Ya wanna run. So go

when ya get t'chancesteal out when Luke's asleepin." I loved him for saying that. Loved him so much

I forgave him for keeping quiet when the others were sold, knowing even as I thought this that I had to love somebody or curl up and die. “You won't hate me if I leave you here alone? You'll understand?”

“Nope, won't understand. Jus want ya to have what ya want. In my heart I know yer pa's doin what he thinks is best. In yer heart ya think he's doin what's worst.”

It seemed Pa had slept his last sleep in some distant unknown place. He didn't doze, didn't even close his eyes all the way. His cold, dark eyes never left me. Not that he met my challenging glares; he only gazed with hooded eyes at some part of me, my hair, my hands, my feet, my middle, anywhere but my face.

Seven days passed, and Pa stayed on and on.

Then one day Logan came to our door, come like a prince to save me!

I opened it expecting to see Grandpa coming from the outhouse. “Hi,” Logan said, smiling broadly and then flushing. "Been thinkin a lot about you lately, wondering why you, Tom, and the others don't come to school now that the weather's not so bad.

Why are all of you staying away? What you been up to?"

He hadn't seen Fannywhy not?

I yanked him in the door when once I would have shoved him out, or thought of a million reasons why he couldn't come in. “Pa's chopping wood out back,” I whispered frantically, “and Grandpa's in the outhouse, so I won't have much time. Pa comes in to check on me every few minutes. Logan, I'm in trouble, big trouble! Pa is selling us off, one by one. Our Jane and Keith first, then Fanny, next Tom. . . and soon it'll be me.”

“Who ya talkin to, girl?” bellowed Pa from the door. I shrank inside my skin as Logan turned to face the powerful brute who was my father.

“My name is Logan Stonewall, sir,” said Logan in a polite yet firm way. “My father is Grant Stonewall, and he owns Stonewall Pharmacy, and Heaven and I have been good friends ever since we came to Winnerrow to live. It's been troubling me why Heaven, Tom, Fanny, Keith, and Our Jane don't go to school anymore, so I came to check on all of them.”

“Why they go or don't go is none of yer damned business,” snapped Pa. "Now take yerself out of here.

We don't need nosy people checking on what we do or don't do."

Logan turned again to me. “I guess I should go home before the sun goes down. Please take care of yourself. By the way, my teacher said that Miss Deale will be back next week.” He gave Pa a long, significant look, making my heart thrill. He did believe me, he did!

“You tell that teacher to stay away and mind her own goddamned business,” roared Pa, moving toward Logan in a threatening manner. “Now you've had your say, so git.”

Calmly Logan swept his eyes around the cabin, drinking in all the poverty that was only too plain to see. I knew he was trying to keep pity and shock from showing in his eyes, but I saw it there, nevertheless. Logan's dark blue eyes met mine, giving me some silent message I didn't know quite how to interpret. “I hope to see you again in a few days, Heaven. I'll tell Miss Deale you're not sick. Now tell me where Tom is, and Fanny, Our Jane, and Keith.”

“They've gone t'visit relatives,” said Pa, throwing open the door, standing aside, and motioning for Logan to go or be thrown out.

Logan glared at Pa. "You take good care of

Heaven, Mr. Casteel.“ ”Get out," Pa said with disgust, and slammed

the door behind Logan. “Why'd that boy come?” he asked when I

turned back to the stove, and Grandpa came stumbling in from the other room. “Did ya send fer him in some way, did ya?”

“He came because he cares, and Miss Deale cares, and the whole world is going to care when they know what you've done, Luke Casteel!”

“Thanks fer warning me,” he said with a sneer. “I'm skerred, real skerred.”

He was worse after that, even more vigilant.

I kept hoping and praying Logan would run into Fanny, and she'd tell him what was going on, and Logan would do something before it was too late. Yet, at the same time, I suspected Pa might have warned the Reverend to keep Fanny close until he had a chance to get rid of me.

I'd read in the newspapers about adopted children selling for ten thousand dollars, and Pa was stupid enough not to ask for that much. But five times five hundred meant he'd have more money than he'd ever had in his entire life; a fortune to any hillbilly in the Willies who couldn't think as high as a thousand.

“Pa,” I said on the tenth day after Tom had gone, “how can you go to church every Sunday for most of your life, and do what you've done?”

“Shut up,” he said, his eyes hard as flat river stones.

“I DON'T WANT TO SHUT UP!” I flared. “I want my brothers and sisters back! You don't have to take care of us. Tom and I found a way to support our- selves.”

“Shut up!”

Oh, I hate you! my wild inner voice raged, even as my instinct warned me to keep quiet or be severely punished.

“Others sell their kids,” he said suddenly, taking me off guard, that he would speakto meas if trying to explain himself, when I'd thought he'd never do such a thing. "I'm not t'first, won't be t'last. Nobody talks bout it, but it happens all t'time. Poor people like us have more kids than the rich ones who can afford kids, an we who can't afford em, most of us don't know how t'keep from havin em . . . .When there's nothin else betta t'do orna, cold winter's night but go t'bed an take what pleasure ya kin with yer woman we make our own gold mines, our kids, our pretty younguns. So why not take advantage of the laws of

nature's balance?" It was more than he'd said to me in my entire

life. And he was well now, his cheeks were flushed with healthy color, no longer gaunt. Strong, high cheekbonesdamned handsome face! If he died, would I feel sorry? No, I told myself over and over, not in a million years.

Late one night I overheard him talking to Grandpa, saying all sorts of melancholy things about his life going to pot, kids holding him back, keeping him from reaching the goal he'd set for himself. “When I get all the money, Pa, it won't be too late. I'm going on t'do what I always wanted, and woulda done but fer her . . . an em . .”

I stopped crying that night. Tears didn't do any

good.

I stopped praying for God to send back my brothers and sisters, stopped thinking Logan would be able to save me. I stopped betting on Miss Deale, and fate that had killed her mother, and lawyers who were holding her in Baltimore. I had to plan my own escape.

Sunday the sun came out. Pa ordered me to dress in my best, if I had any best. My heart jumped, thinking he'd found a buyer. His hard eyes mocked

me. “It's Sunday, girl, churchgoing time,” he said, as if several Sundays hadn't come and gone without any Casteel showing up.

Hearing the word “church,” Grandpa immediately brightened. With stiff joints and many grunts and groans he managed to pull on his only fairly decent clothes, and soon we were ready for our trip into Winnerrow and church.

The church bell chimed clear, resonant tones, giving me a certain false serenity, the sense that God was in his heaven and all was right with the world; as long as the church stood, the bell kept ringing, the people kept coming, kept singing, kept believing.

Pa parked our truck far from the church (others had taken all the close parking places), and we walked the rest of the way, with him holding my arm in a viselike grip.

Those already in the church were singing when we entered.

"Bringin in the sheaves, Bringin in the sheaves, We shall go rejoicin,

Bringin in the sheaves . . ."

Sing, sing, sing. Make the day brighter, make it less cold, less forbidding. I closed my eyes, saw Our Jane's sweet small face. Kept them closed, heard Miss

Deale's soaring soprano. Still keeping my eyes closed, I felt my hand clasped in Tom's, felt Keith tugging on my skirt, and then came that loud, commanding voice. I opened my eyes and stared up at him, wondering how he could buy a child and then call her his own.

“Ladies, and gentleman, will you please stand and turn to page one hundred and forty-​seven in your hymnbooks, then all together sing our most beloved hymn of all,” instructed Reverend Wayland Wise.

"And we walk with him, And we talk with him, And he tells us we are his own, And the voice

we hear singin In our ears, No other has ever known, ." Singing made my heart lighter, happier, until I

caught sight of Fanny sitting in the front pew next to Rosalynn Wise. Fanny didn't even glance around to see if any member of her “former” family was seated in a back pew. Maybe she hoped we wouldn't be there.

I sucked in my breath when she turned her head in profile. Oh, how beautiful she looked in that white fur coat, with a hat to match, and a fur muff to stuff her hands into; even though the church was stiffing hot, still Fanny kept on all that fur and made sure that

everyone behind glimpsed the muff at least once. She managed this by standing up from time to time, and excusing herself for one reason or another; then off to the right she'd stroll to a small hidden chamber, and in there she did something or other that took a few minutes, then slowly, slowly, she sauntered back to her pew, to primly take her place beside her new “mother.”